Weed Legaliztion in California Going to Pot

Xong Vang and Chia Xiong arrived in Douglas City, a town of the Gold Rush era, hoping to make good from the next big California boom.  After the state legalized cannabis in 2016, they joined a wave of newcomers settling in this mountainous, lushly forested Northern California region known to produce some of the world's best weed. They believed that here in remote Trinity County, they could find their own "Green Rush," growing pot for what was promised to be a profitable legal market.

Today, the couple are struggling to keep their 3.4-acre farm going. They live in a trailer on the side of a mountain, where they eke out a modest farm life, raising pigeons for eggs. They worry about providing for their children amid what seem like endless delays to regain licenses needed to legally cultivate their cannabis crop.

Their plight is so desperate that Vang and Xiong have resorted to a path they tried to avoid: growing without a county permit.  “People say you live paycheck to paycheck, but there’s no paycheck to live off of,” Xiong said, standing amid budding plants nestled on the slopes of a rugged peak.  They are among hundreds of local cannabis growers entangled in a legal impasse that has kept many from planting and led some to consider joining a thriving underground economy that was supposed to decline after cannabis was legalized by Proposition 64.

Part of the tri-county “Emerald Triangle” in Northern California, this expanse of forests and hidden canyons has the ideal climate for cannabis: hot days and cool summer nights. It's described by locals as the Napa Valley of weed. If any place in California would have been expected to flourish after cannabis was legalized, it was Trinity, where the crop's roots were sown during the counterculture movement of the 1960s.

But the legalization measure, which in Trinity won by only a handful of votes, was polarizing from the start. Critics of licensed farming worried that an influx of commercial growers would wreak havoc, causing ecological destruction and eroding the community's sense of safety and trust.  Following a lawsuit, a Superior Court judge last year invalidated nearly all licenses that had been awarded, ruling that the county approved them without requiring growers to document potential environmental impacts and measures to prevent harm.  By early November, just 44 licenses had been re-approved, and about 300 farmers, including Vang and Xiong, are still waiting.

In the meantime, some have let their lands lie fallow, while others have chosen to produce illegal harvests, avoiding the fees, taxes and red tape associated with obtaining a license.  Some illegal growers have diverted streams, poisoned the land with toxic chemicals, destroyed wildlife habitat and threatened people who stray near their plantings.

Financial losses from illegal operations and depressed prices have been “incalculable” for farmers, said Adrien Keys, president of the Trinity County Agriculture Alliance, an association of about 100 cultivators.  Many, he said, invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in their businesses and in a county system that is unreliable and threatens to push away manufacturers, distributors and others who rely on products from the region.

Interviews with residents and local officials and a Times review of county records reveal the repercussions of an estimated 3,000 illegal cultivation sites. Satellite images show how one hot spot, Post Mountain, has been nearly stripped bare of its once-pristine forest, as if the land were going bald.

In Trinity County, Proposition 64 passed by only six votes and the issue remains deeply controversial.  Some legalization boosters envisioned a wellspring of riches from cannabis that could help pay for college, expand hospital and mental health services and lead to skyrocketing property values.  Instead, Trinity residents say, a rural, "Mayberry" way of life in which people left their keys in their cars has been ruined. The influx of outsiders to cultivate weed has left longtime residents scared and suspicious.

 Experts who researched the local weed market said Trinity officials focused on potential revenue but gave little thought to technical details that exposed the county to legal challenges.  Grower Terry Mines has been warring with Trinity officials for years. He tried to develop a cannabis storage and distribution facility but was denied county approval in 2020. Thus far, the county has approved licenses only for cultivation, and there are no legal dispensaries.